Dusting
by SunShark
Summary: Sally has constants in her life. Constants that she's learned to accept. Constants that she expects. So maybe it's time something new happened. A Sherlock X DC xover.


So, I wanted to try something new this time, and since writing in the actual Sherlock and Shinichi would be waaay to intenst for my current level, well, enjoy!

* * *

Living in London for so long, Sally had learned not to expect much. Crime rates were moderate, the general populace was ungrateful, and anything distinctly morbid would attract freaks faster than rotting meat to flies. She had constants all about her life, not the most pleasant, but constants all the same, and she'd learned to live with them. Didn't mean she wouldn't wonder what else life had, but with her job and her pay, she really couldn't find out.

So when the Yard received notice of a dead body (white female, found in a store restroom), she downed the rest of her coffee, ignoring the slight burn, and headed for the cars with the rest of the officers.

Nobody really wonders what the scene would look like. She stopped pretty early on as a rookie; they were either much neater or ridiculously bloodier than she had imagined. Plus preconceptions were encouraged to be left at home, since they would mess with her own investigations – that, she learned at the academy.

"Oh, the bathroom lady? What, it's like she's always in there!" "Rachel? Why, wai- is she the one dead? Oh my go-"

"Any marks?" DI Lestrade calls out, and it's Anderson at the restroom at the moment. Sally was collecting statements from the people in the store at the time, though apparently no one's seen anything suspicious. She really hoped the freak wouldn't have to show up.

"Yup, too many. Toilet's far too public!" Anderson scowls, and Sally's mildly surprised, seeing as there's limited space and only two toilets in there. Don't they ever clean it?

"I've never met her before." "Rachel? We talked a bit before, but not much," "Ex_cuse_ me? Do I look like a criminal? Go ask _them_!" Sally bit back a retort. Ungrateful bitch, they were trying to save lives here!

"What about on the body?" Lestrade adds, since apparently the victim, a Rachel Hermings, 27 years, was strangled to death on the seat. Her pants were still down when she was found, and the rape kit turned up negative so far.

"Well, there's the hand-shaped bruises on her neck, though the hands are kind of small. She looks pretty pale, rigor mortis just setting in. And then there's a small half-circle shaped bruise on her upper thigh, don't know what that could be from, but that's about it." Anderson replied.

"We-wewe-we were fri-friends, I c-can't _imagine_ anyone who'd w-want to-toto k-kill h-her…" Sally nodded patiently through all the sobbing. "Just one more question miss, where were you at about 1:40 pm?"

"I-I was on lunch-ch break".

Sally nodded again as she listened to the other woman click back to the other witnesses, finally finished with her questioning. It was good that the store was small this time; sometimes the number of potential witnesses would be enormous.

"No one saw two women walk into the restroom together. Or force their way into it," She called out. "Though they could have been waiting in the other stall," she offered. Hey, it was possible, the stalls reached all the way from the ceiling to a foot and a half gap from the floor. Anyone could climb through.

Lestrade sighed. "And who knows how many came in afterwards," he muttered. "Did anyone know the victim?" he asked next.

"The store manager Robert Brown and the cashier Amy Serge, along with four other shoppers. Apparently she was a rather frequent customer, came down every Wednesday and Saturday for groceries. Her grocery basket was left right outside of the restroom. Oh, and she's apparently friends with Ms. Serge." Sally listed. "Should I question her further?"

Lestrade nodded, and she advanced towards the distressed cashier, whose mascara was completely ruined at this point from all the dabbing. Before she could make it though, a little girl in a headband collided with her.

"Demo, dono yō na kanojo no shiroi hokori wa dōdesu ka?" The little girl babbled, and Sally could only look at her in bewilderment, wondering how she even snuck her way up here.

"Um, sweety," she tried, pasting on a smile, "are your parents –"

But to her surprise, a mechanical voice sounded from the girl's jacket. "[But what about the white dust on her.]" it said tonelessly. What the heck?

"Kanojo wa kanojo no kami ni shiroi hokori o motte ita! Mochi no yō ni!" The little girl was soon joined by a skinny boy and a fat one, all of whom looked about 7 years old. Sally glanced around. Did no one else notice the 3 toddlers who got in here?

The mechanical voice sounded again after a beat. "[She had white dust in her hair. Like a mochi.]" This time it came from the fat boy's jacket. A…translator?

She had to calm down. "Okay," she said, "Have you been listening in on us? Actually, can you understand me?" she directed the question to the three of them.

"Hai!" They immediately chorused, and Sally finally noticed that all of them had little headphones in their ears, like the ones she once played with in a kid's 'Spy Tools' set. Did they think this was a game?

The voice said "[Yes.]", and she took that as a cue to continue.

Sally knelt down. "The police are doing some very important work right now," She started, but was interrupted.

"Wareware wa shitte iru! Soshite, wareware wa tedasuke shiyou to shite imasu!" the kids immediately protested, which after a moment translated to "[We know. And we're trying to help.]", and Sally could only sigh.

Why did kids have to be so earnest and stubborn? This is why she wasn't married.

But then, from somewhere behind her, she heard Anderson complain, "The walls here sure are crummy." Turning her head, she saw him dusting off his gloves and his back, where he had leaned against the wall. His shoulders were speckled an off-white where he couldn't reach.

Turning back, all three kids were sporting identical smirks, and she worked hard to block out where else she had seen that smirk before.

"Okay then," she breathed, hoping this wouldn't blow up in her face, "What else did you see?" And how did you see the body, she wanted to add, but that could be saved for later.

The kids were beaming. The skinny one took a deep breath and started, "[So the powder came from the walls or the ceiling]". Okay, Sally could understand that idea.

"[But it's mostly on her head and lap]", the little girl continues, "[Like where the snow falls when you sit]".

"[So it came from above]," the fat one added, "[But I was pooping in there and the ventilation didn't give me powder]" he added, scrunching up his forehead.

The little girl frowned at him. "[Genta, don't say 'pooping' in public, it's not polite]" she scolded.

The fat boy protested. "[But that's what I did. What else are you suppose to call it.]"

Sally sighed again. Kids. But wait, they said that the powder came off the ceiling? So the ceiling had to have been disturbed, but the ventilation wouldn't have set it off. The ventilation was right above the dead woman's toilet, so…

Anderson popped over her shoulder. "There's about 4 people who entered after the victim, we need to question th – Donovan, what are you doing bringing kids –"

She got it!

"Detective Lestrade, check the ventilation shaft!" She called, getting up. Anderson was still sputtering at her.

Lestrade squinted at her. "Sergeant Donovan?"

"Just check it! I've got an idea!" she said.

"[And we helped.]" chorused the kids, who of course now everyone notices. Lestrade stared for just a second longer before heading toward the restroom. She herself headed for the manager, the kids trailing behind her like ducks.

"Do you have an upper floor, sir?" She asked him.

"Yes, but –"

"Could you tell me where the staircase to it is?" Usually she wasn't this rude but she was almost sure she knew how the murder was done!

The manager directed her to a small back room, and before she could stop them the kids rushed up before her. The fat boy's shoe was the last thing she saw disappearing overhead. And then -

"[Hi Mr. Inspector. Can you see me.]" it was the girl shouting, and, as Sally finally joined them overhead, waving furiously over where the rest of the ventilation piping should be. And when she looked down, she could see the detective inspector's faint grin as he waved back up.

"Looks large enough for a person, I'd say," he commented. "But isn't that place usually covered with pipes?"

The fat boy tried to lift the cover. Subsequently, Lestrade's hair went from grey to white.

They made their way back down again, joining the rest of the police. Sally was almost giddy, she was _actually solving something_! Take that, freak!

"Ayumi? Genta? Mitsuhiko? Anata wa doko ni iru?" Someone was shouting from outside.

"Agasa-san!" The kids shouted, charging outside. They ended up clustering around a rather large, old man, that Sally had questioned and subsequently dismissed; Mr. Agasa, Japanese, on vacation with three kids, and had no idea what was going on.

"Anata ga arimasu!" He chuckled jovially. "I'm very sorry about them," the man continued in english, "but they get so excited when they have a case."

Sally repressed a grimace. Now who did that sound like?

But the man still wasn't done. "They are very observant you know, pick up things old guys like me miss! Haha!" And if that didn't finish off Sally's mental comparison, nothing else would. Well, almost; the kids were too young to be complete jerks, and the little girl was quite sweet.

Lestrade was coming out as well now, as glad as she was that the list of suspects had shortened considerably. "According to the manager, besides himself only 4 other people know of the back staircase. His wife and son, who have been confirmed to be in their house the whole time, a delivery man by the name of Andrew Dinks, and the cashier."

"So we just need to find Dinks, bring him and Ms. Serge back to the station for questioning, and hope that it's one of them. Got it," Anderson remarked, joining them. He stumbled at the door frame, but caught himself before he fell. He did, however, manage to kick Ms. Serge in the heel, causing her to stumble slightly.

The little girl gasped. "[Wow, you're shoes are so pretty]" she remarked to the cashier. Ms. Serge looked rather nervous to be taken in for questioning, and gave the girl a shaky smile. As the next question "[Can I see them.]" came up, she obligingly lifted her foot, letting the little girl ooh and aaah at the sparkles.

The other kids were evidently nonplussed. "[Isn't this the same as walking in stilts.]" "[The pointy end would stab everything it walks on.]"

Lestrade was shouting at the other officers to finish clearing up. They had just about everything documented, didn't want to keep the public waiting for too long. Sally couldn't help but be amused by the kids' comments though, she had said the same about her mom's heels, a long time ago.

The girl, however, was not so amused. "[Hey, the shoe ends aren't pointy, they're flat.]" And to emphasize her point she rubbed her finger over the rounded end of the heel. The cashier finally got tired of holding her foot up, so the girl stepped back and let the woman stand up straight.

Sally stared. _The rounded end_…"Hey" she called, catching the cashier and the detective inspector's attention, "wasn't the bruise on the dead woman's thigh from a high heel?"

The woman went from distraught to white in a flash.

Lestrade actually grinned as he took out the handcuffs. "You know, I think this one's a new record," he remarked, "Without having to call in the cavalry."

Well…oh, what the hell, Sally grinned as well. The MET could definitely solve crimes without help! And it felt good. Definitely.

Anderson coughed. "Yes, well, don't forget to tell the rest of us how we got here. How are we here again?"

* * *

And that's a wrap. I really think Sally has potential if she isn't being smothered by Sherlock all the time. This might be a multi-fic. Hope you enjoyed!

If you've ever hit your head on a crummy hotel ceiling you'll get loads of white dust on your head. Trust me, I've tried.

Agasa* = "Where were you?" "There you were!"


End file.
